


Big Heavy Weight

by catmanu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, I just feel like they'd be that way, M/M, Old Married Couple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Zenit St. Petersburg, all my uwus for supportive Zenit team members, sardartem dirty talk is a little cheesy on purpose, sex that is not graceful or delicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 03:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30049242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: Sardar and Artem score in the wonderful 4-0 against Akhmat Grozny, a triumphant game after so many dismal ones. They fuck to celebrate. Does what it says on the tin ~
Relationships: Sardar Azmoun/Artem Dzyuba
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Big Heavy Weight

Sardar is still covered in sweat from head to toe, even after getting subbed off and sitting in the cool air in his jacket, and his hair is still fucked-up in that sexy way from all the sweat (imagine, not having hair so nice and thick! Sardar can't and doesn't want to), so he takes his best shampoo along with his other things to the shower. The shower will feel nice.

He lines his shower things up on the floor and whips off his towel—waits a moment for Dejan to flirt with him and tell him how nice his ass is before remembering that their hot mess of a new captain had missed the match—then turns on the water, waits for the pressure to adjust and the temperature to get nice and warm, and sticks one leg in and—

"HEY BOYS!!!" Tyoma yells from the other room. "Anyone seen our pretty Zlatan?"

"He didn't wait for you," Sardar hears Maga say. "He went off to the showers."

"Brat, huh? He's lucky he's so talented, otherwise I'd kick his ass."

"Sure you would, Artem. _Sure_ you would."

And then Sardar hears Yaro's voice loud and clear—he must have been showering, too. "Nope, sorry. Can't come in here now."

It was Marcus. Wendel? Sardar still isn't sure what to call him. "But I gotta shower."

"Nope. Do it at home."

"What the fuck, man, I need to—"

"Trust me, just trust me. Shower at home."

Sardar smiles as he squirts some of his shower gel into his palms and runs it over his arms and through the hair on his chest, getting himself nice and soapy and soft. Who would have thought that playing for Zenit St. Petersburg he'd be so...accepted? Understood? Loved for who he was?

He thinks about how lucky he is as he hears Yaro greet Tyoma in the doorway and then—suddenly Tyoma's bare skin is pressed against his, Tyoma shoving him against the wet tiled wall with all his big, heavy weight.

"Tyoma," Sardar sighs.

"Give me that shampoo." Tyoma's lined himself up so his cock, solid and graceful even when not fully hard, is resting right in between Sardar's ass cheeks. Just a reminder...He gets the shampoo and starts running it through Sardar's hair, pulling it too hard, his fingers too rough, but it feels better and more loving than anything Sardar could possibly think of.

"If I wasn't such a _professional_ this hair would have me going wild out there on the pitch, you know that, baby," Tyoma comments. "But you know me. I know how to stay calm."

"Mmmhmm, and you do so well," Sardar says. "You were just magic out there, daddy, yeah? Weren't you? You made your Sardar so proud."

"Mmmmf," Tyoma mutters, rubbing his lips against Sardar's ear while still working the shampoo through his hair. Sardar shivers. He has sensitive ears. "And you took that penalty the way you take my cock, hmmmm?"

" _Tyomaaaaaaa_..." Sardar giggles. "That was...that was _bad_."

"Interrupting me, baby?" Tyoma's huge, soapy hand slides around and covers Sardar's lips. Sardar loves this, fuck, he just loves this so much. He nips at Tyoma's palm. "That's better. I said what I said. You took it _nice—_ _"_ And he thrusts against Sardar's ass. _"—_ and _calm—_ " Another thrust. "and _smooth—_ "

Sardar moans, pushing back against Tyoma. The game-stiff muscles in his legs are having a hard time with this and he wobbles. He moans against Tyoma's hand loud enough that he figures it won't have mattered much that Yaro got everyone out of the showers. They all could probably still hear him in the dressing room. Well, it doesn't matter, does it? Everyone knows how lucky he is, everyone knows how loved he is.

(Except maybe poor innocent baby Marcus? Wendel? Well, he probably knows now.)

Tyoma drops his hand and wraps his arms around Sardar's waist, picking him up off the floor just the tiniest bit, just for one second. But he does this. He does this to remind Sardar that he's got a few centimeters of height on him, that he weighs so much more, that his shoulders are so strong, that his abs are so—Sardar wobbles again as Tyoma puts him back down.

"Awww, baby," Tyoma says. Sardar hums. Sometimes he thinks of how there's the Sardar back in Iran and the Sardar in Tyoma's arms and they're somehow completely different people. How does that work? Because they're also both still him, very much him. And Tyoma loves both of them.

"You did great today too," Sardar says. "Beautiful instincts. Like always."

"Mmmhmm. And you know what happens when Daddy scores." Tyoma slips his big hand between Sardar's cock and the wet wall. He rubs his beard against the still-hot skin on Sardar's neck. Back and forth. Sardar sometimes wonders if this is why Tyoma's decided to grow one. "Daddy gets to choose."

Sardar curls his lip. He won't let Tyoma get away with this so easily. "But we both scored today, Tyoma." 

Tyoma pinches the head of his cock. "Ow, fuck! Take good care of me, Tyoma! Don't do _that._ "

"Then don't be a little brat, hmmm?" Tyoma says. "Yeah, we both scored, but you scored more recently. For me it's been such a long time, you know...so I get to choose."

Sardar stomps his foot because getting Tyoma worked up is just so much fun. And Tyoma presses him harder against the wall and starts jerking him off fast. But his wrist and arm move so gracefully. Sardar's mouth falls open and his lips press firmly against the wet tile.

"Do I know how to shut my little brat up or what?"

"Fuck—you—"

"Filthy mouth. Anyway," Tyoma says, "I'm trying to think where I should fuck you today."

"How 'bout right here?" Sardar always loves the idea of Tyoma fucking him in such a public place. There are so many places where he doesn't even dare to say he thinks men _look_ good. He can't. So the idea of his teammates hearing him moan till his throat hurts, hearing Tyoma gasp and whine and announce that he was going to _fill his baby up—_ and limping out smiling and proud after—well, it's one of his biggest fantasies.

But that's not Tyoma's thing. "No. How'd I wind up with such a slutty brat? I ask God this every day."

"I would _love_ to know what answer you get."

"I don't share my baby with anyone. Except maybe our _captain_." For just a moment, Sardar hears the hurt in Tyoma's voice. Poor Tyoma. His heart's so big, his feelings so strong, that even with Sardar's cock in his hand sometimes they appear. "But, you know, he has a silver medal from the World Cup and he has nice shoulders. He deserves good things too, I think."

He shoves two fingers up Sardar's ass—well-trained for years by now, thank you very much—with no warning and spreads them, closes them, spreads them— "Just going to open you up a little while I think of where to take you."

Sardar wonders how Tyoma can even think with both his hands busy now and his beard leaving scratches on Sardar's neck.

"Well, be quick," Sardar says, "cause I want it, daddy. I want your cock in me so bad, daddy, pl- _please_..."

"Fuck, Sardar, I can't even think when you beg like that, you know that," Tyoma gasps. "You know where all my blood goes..." He reaches out and with a sharp, quick twist he shuts off the water. Now that the sound of the shower is gone Sardar hears...nothing. Absolutely nothing. Their teammates have all left. And he feels like Dejan would have stuck around to try to get in on the action, but Dejan isn't here.

"They're good guys, huh," Tyoma says, and he scoops Sardar up and presses Sardar's wet, warm, naked body against his own as he carries him to the lockers. Sardar's feet dangle and bounce against Tyoma's ankles. He guesses if he _really_ wanted to he could kind of stretch his legs out and touch the floor with his toes. But he doesn't want to at all. He likes it better like this. 

He thinks of what his name means in Farsi. Chief, commander. A title of nobility. Really, it's the perfect name for him, and that's how Tyoma treats him. Like royalty, like a _commander_.

Like a spoiled little baby.

They both carry lube in their bags so Tyoma picks up the first one he sees—Sardar's—as he carries Sardar through to a little room on the side where the physios do some massages, some stretches if needed, those little things. The door locks from the inside. They've been in there before. Tyoma locks it and finally Sardar can kiss him. Can grab his face and kiss him hard, licking into his mouth over and over, grinding their hard cocks together. Sardar can feel Tyoma's abs flexing, heaving against him, and then Tyoma's fingers are back where they were before, stretching him and opening him up so good.

"I fucking love you, Sardar, I love you, I love you so much," Tyoma moans into his mouth. Then he pushes Sardar back, staring at him, panting with his blue eyes so wide and his lips wet, and gives Sardar a little shove so he falls down on his back. There's some convenient mats on the floor, for stretching or whatever, and that's where Sardar falls, his legs opening automatically. Tyoma's still looking at him like that and he just melts. Iran Sardar, Top Scorer In The RPL As Of Today Sardar, well, he's about to disappear under daddy's heavy, hot weight.

"Your body's so fucking beautiful," Tyoma says. He's on his knees now between Sardar's legs but even on his knees he looks like a giant. Sardar's eyes flicker down to watch him lube up his cock and his fingers. He gets Sardar ready without having to look, his slick fingers moving as he keeps his eyes locked onto Sardar's. "If you could see yourself right now..."

"So take a picture."

Tyoma rolls his eyes. "I will be generous and ignore that. Don't ever change how you look, baby, _ever._ You look so beautiful even though you ruined your skin with those tattoos..." (Sardar sticks out his tongue at him.) "You look so..."

Tyoma slides the tip of his cock between Sardar's cheeks and bites his lip, panting already, and then there's the pressure of him pushing into Sardar, but there's no pain, nothing but the sudden feeling of hot and full inside him. He shivers on the floor, his back arching, even his shoulderblades coming up off the mat a little. " _Ohhh,_ " Tyoma moans, and Sardar reaches his arms out for the man he loves. On some porn sites the guys act like this hurts, but Sardar can't remember the last time that it did. Maybe that's what being in love is all about.

Tyoma is just staring at him, and he runs his thumb through Sardar's chest hair and down, touching every bit of hair he can. He lets his fingers run across Sardar's stomach; he squeezes it and pinches it and his cock pulses inside Sardar and Sardar's pulses in the stale air of the tiny room.

"Daddy, you're so big inside me," he whines. "Please don't wait—please daddy, I need it—"

"You want it hard, Sardar?" Tyoma asks. His fingers creep lower and tug at the sweaty hair around the base of Sardar's cock.

"Daddy, please, as hard as you can, _please—_ " And Tyoma doesn't wait. He leans forward and puts his palms on the floor, one strong arm on either side of Sardar, and begins to thrust. Each time he bottoms out he and Sardar moan at once. Sardar's legs spread even wider, his toes curling already. The thing about sweet Tyoma is that he's so passionate beforehand when he wants to be. He can give the most drawn-out handjobs, the most delicious blowjobs, and he eats Sardar's ass like it's a dessert buffet and he's starving. But when it's time to fuck it's just hard and fast and harder and faster.

And that's just how Sardar wants it. 

"Daddy," he whines, "oh my God daddy, daddy, please, you're so big, you're so big—" He is big, everywhere, he's big and strong and his love is big too and he's the whole world. Sardar's arms shoot out and grab Tyoma, leaving scratches on his back, digging into his hardworking muscles.

"That's my good boy," Tyoma gasps. "My baby loves daddy..." He collapses on top of Sardar and tilts his chin to kiss him, his strong hips still thrusting. His lips are so wet that it smears all over Sardar's mouth. His fingers scramble through Sardar's wet hair, pulling, trying to hold on.

Even though Tyoma fucks fast and hard and no other way, he knows how to do it so that he hits just the right spot every time. But even though it feels incredible to be fucked like this, with Tyoma hot and heavy and panting and moaning on top of him, with his necklace slapping against Sardar's chest, so incredible that Sardar thinks he might come untouched tonight, it's just not _quite_ enough.

Sardar does not like pain, ever, especially not during sex. He's very sensitive. But there's a difference between being hurt and being sore, and he wants daddy to fucking _pound_ him till he's too sore to walk, that's what he needs, that's what he wants, needs, wants, needs. He pulls on Tyoma's short hair and squeezes around his cock. "Daddy.." he says. "Daddy...my Tyoma..."

"You want something, baby?" Tyoma pauses and leans his weight on one elbow so he can brush Sardar's hair out of his eyes. "Look at you. Can you even see me? You look like I fucked your brains right out. What do you want?"

"Flip me over," Sardar says. He doesn't say _please_ and Tyoma gently, gently, so lovingly smacks him in the face.

"Don't be rude." He's slowed his hips down more than Sardar thought would be possible, circling them so his cock brushes just slightly against where Sardar's most sensitive. Sardar opens his mouth but a bit of drool comes out before he can talk. Tyoma wipes it away with his wrist. "You want it so you can't walk tomorrow?"

"Mmmhmm."

"So I have to carry you everywhere?"

"Maybe."

"You fucking kill me, baby, you're so perfect..." Tyoma kisses him one more time and pulls out. Before Sardar can remember how much he hates that awful, empty feeling, Tyoma has hauled him off the floor, flipped him over, and put him on all fours. He leans down and shoves Sardar's face into the mat and slides his cock back in where it belongs; Sardar's so loose and open and full of lube that Tyoma can just slip right inside. Just how they both like it. He starts right away, his pace even faster, fucking Sardar harder than any average person ever could. He reaches around to grab Sardar's cock, thumbing the wetness at the tip.

"No, daddy, no...want to see if I can come without you touching me..."

"Oh, fuck," Tyoma pants. It's not something that happens too often because Tyoma can't keep his hands away from Sardar, and why should he? So he's always very impressed when he sees it. "Okay, okay..." He thrusts harder. His balls slap against Sardar. He clearly wants them both to come now, no more fucking around.

"Daddy..." Sardar wails. "So deep...so...more..."

"Fucking take it baby..." Tyoma's moans are getting higher, more and more beautiful. "Take it..."

He pushes Sardar's face further into the mat and tangles his fingers in Sardar's hair—he pulls so hard—and suddenly moans "Fuck, daddy's gonna come in you—"

"Please, daddy, _please_ ," Sardar begs, and he feels Tyoma's cock twitch inside him and then all the warmth following right after. Tyoma is moaning so hard behind him, no words, just beautiful sounds, and with his ass in the air and the mat underneath him soaked with drool, Sardar comes too.

"Daddy..." he whispers. His knees are weak. He collapses into the sticky puddle he's left underneath him. He's shivering from how hard he came and wow, he feels sore already even with Tyoma still twitching and sighing inside him.

Tyoma collapses too and he spreads out, his soft abs sweat-sticking to Sardar's back. He doesn't pull out, but Sardar likes the feeling of Tyoma going soft inside him. He plays with Sardar's hair and is silent for once in his life. Only Sardar can get him to be quiet like this.

"Fuck the gym," he says at last. "You're my workout. So fucking demanding." He kisses Sardar's ear and reaches around to hold his hand. "I love you."

"I love you," Sardar sighs. "Tyoma, I don't—I don't want you to leave tonight." Sometimes he wishes so many weird things. He wishes he and Tyoma could go off somewhere and get married. And get an apartment together where they could go after games and shower and eat a snack and dance around to 'your weird-ass Turkmen music.' And so many other things. And and and.

"It'll just be me at my place tonight," he continues. "Do you think you could—you could—"

"Aww, _baby_..." Tyoma sighs. He's still playing with Sardar's hair. "You want me with you all night?"

Sardar nods. "Please?"

"Okay," Tyoma says. "Okay. I want it too. I'll make it happen."

He shifts so his soft cock slips out of Sardar and presses all of his big heavy weight harder against him. "But first let's just stay like this a little bit. Okay, my Sardar?"

"Okay, my Tyoma."

**Author's Note:**

> Hot Damb that was exhilarating! Kudos and comments would make me so happy 😘😘


End file.
